


Like Magnets

by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Meg is a fucking bawwwws, demon/angel, previous torture mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleyFoxtrot/pseuds/ireallyhatecornnuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was no archangel, he was no Castiel. He was an Angel of the Lord, and he was a soldier.</p><p>Sometimes you had to leave soldiers behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Magnets

**Author's Note:**

> So I was wandering around Tumblr and I found [this post](http://rattlinglegos.tumblr.com/post/36056071135/no-but-imagine-meg-finds-samandriel-and-hes), by [rattlinglegos](http://rattlinglegos.tumblr.com/) and reblogged by [satanhasthephonebox](http://satanhasthephonebox.tumblr.com/) (both of whom I'm going to blame for my now-rabid shipping of this ship). And then I accidentally angel/demon'd all over my blog.
> 
> Totally un-beta'd, apologies in advance for any major wording fuckups.

Out of everything in his Father's creation, Samanderiel had never before become truly acquainted with pain. 

Oh, he'd  _heard_  about it, in detail, from both his brothers and sisters, and from humanity below. But he'd never truly understood it until he was captured by Crowley.

The humans could only smell the sulfur coming from their skin, could see the black of their eyes, but if the humans could see their faces, like Samanderiel could, they would never have tried to cooperate with the demons.

They would have run, screaming, from the one who dared torture an Angel of the Lord.

His grace was healing him slowly, sluggishly, bound as it was by every ward known to demonkind and some that they shouldn't even have an inkling  _existed_. Were he in a better state of mind, Samanderiel would have bothered thinking about that.

His vessel poured sweat and blood and tears as he whimpered in the sulfuric darkness; as he tried and failed to reach out when he sensed a brother nearby. He tensed against the cuffs binding him, trying and failing to fight, to escape. 

It was useless. Samanderiel would have to do penance once he returned to Heaven, because he broke. He gave in, consorted with the enemy. Torture didn't excuse dealings with demons, not for someone like him. He hung his head, letting the pain and the shame wash over him. He swallowed around the lump that had manifested in his vessel's throat, and Samanderiel knew grief.

He didn't know how long he sat in that chamber; the brother or sister who had been near him had come and gone, and the building lay silent. His wounds refused to heal fully, the wards binding him from his grace as surely as they bound him to the chair. After a while he began to wish he were mortal; at least then he could bleed to death. 

Suddenly he was blind. No, not blind: that was light, coming from a doorway pushed open from the outside. Instinctively, he tensed, hope and despair warring within him.

She walked up to him, and he knew her for what she was.

"Demon," he said, dully. Why should he expect any different? He was no archangel, he was no Castiel. He was an Angel of the Lord, and he was a soldier. Sometimes you had to leave soldiers behind.

He understood this intrinsically, the knowledge a part of him, but the reality of it was a slap to the face. It  _hurt_ ; he'd been abandoned by his family, and he would never know their faces again, never rejoice in song amongst the Host. He would die here, in some filthy human warehouse smelling of sulfur and split flesh.

"Angel," the demon said, a smirk playing on her lips. Her human host (long since dead) had dark hair, framing a heart-shaped face. She crouched in front of him, her head cocked to the side. "I knew one like you, once," she said, letting her fingers trail down Samanderiel's face. He shied away from her touch and she snorted her amusement.

"What's your name, sweet cheeks? I can't call you Clarence, that one's taken." She was doing something behind him, now, and he  _ached_  to see what it was, to know what his pain would be before it struck him.

"S-samanderiel," he gasped out. 

She chuckled, circling back around him and fiddling with the fastenings of his chair. "Well,  _that's_  a mouthful. Do you think Dean-o would be pissed if I started calling you Sammy? Hell, I might do it  _just_  to piss him off." With a snap, the cuffs fell off Samanderiel's wrists, and almost instantly he was healed. His wounds covered over with new flesh, his sweat disappeared, his vessel's uniform was once again crisply white and red. 

The demon stood at the door, beckoning him out into the sunlight.

"Come on, then, Sammy, let's get you out of here."

Samanderiel took a step out into the daylight, tentative as he'd never been before, and looked around. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight: fresh air, birdsong, the whole of his Father's most joyous creation. And this demon, his own personal savior.

"What's  _your_  name?" he asked.

She smiled at him, a delightfully wicked smile as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Meg," she said. "You can call me Meg."

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you can find me at my tumblr, disease-danger-darkness-silence.tumblr.com.


End file.
